


i got your back, like it's just you and me here

by wheretheskiesend



Series: lotr | aralas oneshots [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Aragorn is a Flirt, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Legolas Falls For It, M/M, lots of flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 09:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17526029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheretheskiesend/pseuds/wheretheskiesend
Summary: aragorn charms legolas into cradling him in his arms ( basically )





	i got your back, like it's just you and me here

**Author's Note:**

> some of you might have noticed that i changed the lyrics on these titles, and that is because i found another song, which i felt suited these two so much better. it's called lighthouse, by g.r.l, and i found it in this amazing fanvid and i couldn't help but fall in love with it!
> 
> anyway, i hope y'all enjoy this new one!

Aragorn found him by the edge of the forest, a target set up yards away. He held the bow up, the arrow quivering just above his ear, lithe fingers pulling the string back before releasing it. The arrow, as expected, not only hit the target but pierced the center. 

 

He clapped a little, it  _ had  _ been a beautiful shot. “You did not miss,” he allowed. The elf spun around.

 

“You thought I would?”

 

Aragorn shrugged. “It has been a while since you have needed to use it. Regression is only natural.”

 

Legolas frowned. “Not for the elves it isn’t.” He was about to further explain the extent of his archery skills when he noticed the smile creeping up the man’s face. 

 

“You tease.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of a fact. Aragorn nodded.

 

“You could not hit the target from thus far,” the elf retorted. Aragorn looked skeptical as he surveyed the distance with a careful eye.

 

“I could try,” he offered. “It does not seem too difficult.”

 

Legolas handed his bow and arrow over all too easily. “I would like to see you try.” He kept his brow arched as the man took it from him with a dubious glance.

 

He raised the bow to his ear, pulling the string taught as he drew the it back, the arrow quivering against it. He let his fingers go, let the arrow fly.

 

It hit the target, but only barely. The arrow grazed the edge before settling into the green rim around the edge.

 

“I suppose a king has no need to worry himself with such trivial things,” Legolas mused. Aragorn shook his head, chuckling a little.

 

“Neither does a prince, and yet, here we are.” He turned from the target to his friend.

 

The elf nodded. “It’s for the same reasons you do not sleep.”

 

“I slept last night.”

 

Legolas shook his head. “One night is an exception, not the rule.”

 

“Perhaps you were on to something, laying with another,” Aragorn whispered, stepping closer. He hadn’t realized that the elf was closer as well until he found himself staring into a pair of glistening blue eyes.

 

Legolas licked his lips. “Perhaps.” A half smile curved on the edges of his lips, and Aragorn didn’t know what he wouldn’t do to see them smile.

 

“Then perhaps we should try that again, just to see if it is the rule, and not the exception,” he suggested. “For science’ sake.”

 

“Of course,” Legolas agreed, lips curving further as his eyes sparkled with mirth. “For science’ sake.”

 

“I meant to ask earlier, how was Frodo’s cake? He and Sam were in the kitchen fairly late last night making it, but I never had a chance to taste it.”

 

“It’s no lembas bread, but I suppose it was satisfactory,” the elf admitted. “I had thought you would have eaten it already.”

 

“Nay, I knew you would wake later and had them save my share for you,” Aragorn replied. “I am glad you enjoyed it.”

 

“I said it was satisfactory,” Legolas corrected, but Aragorn only laughed.

 

“Nothing will compare to lembas bread for you, _ mellon nin _ ,” he joked. “I only fear for the poor soul who must spend their life eating that bread to satiate your hunger for it.”

 

“They must be suitable with a bow as well,” he added, eyes drifting to the arrow that hung from the target, watching as it fell to the ground.

 

Aragorn leaned closer. “You could always teach them, if they are so hopeless.”

 

Legolas tilted his head, genuinely considering the idea. “Your technique was off, and your arms were too stiff. You should stay loose,” he advised. “You can’t always muscle your way through things.”

 

“Oh? Perhaps you could show me?”

 

In response, Legolas pulled him closer, hands resting on his shoulders, turning Aragorn around. “Hold up the bow,” he instructed. Aragorn did so, stiffening when Legolas reached around him to fix his grip on the bow, his arms wrapped around him.

 

“Relax,” he insisted. “The tenser you are, the less likely it is that the arrow will go where you wish for it to.”

 

Aragorn did as he was told, relaxing in his grip as he leaned against the elf. “Now what?” His voice was soft, at most a whisper, but there was no doubt that Legolas had heard him, even without his elven ears.

 

“Pull the string back,” he instructed. “Slowly, the target isn’t moving anywhere.” He moved his hand to hold Aragorn’s wrist instead, adjusting the fingers so they were better streamlined with the string.

 

Aragorn drew the string back, slowly, slowly, slowly, until Legolas squeezed his wrist to get him to stop. “Now release using your fingers, not your entire hand.” He let his grip loosen and felt the fingers pull away, the arrow launching forward. 

 

The arrow pierced the heart of the target.

 

“Not bad for a king,” Legolas mused, resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder and leaning against him.

 

Aragorn laughed. “I have used a bow before,” he pointed out.

 

“That makes your prior performance all the more worse.”

 

Aragorn turned around, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “You forget that the Dúnedain were trained with the bow as well, that was hardly the extent of my abilities.”

 

“The target was but a stone's throw away, and time enough has not passed for you to have missed as such, if what you say about your abilities is to be taken as the truth.”

 

“Perhaps I just needed someone to teach me again, a little reminder,” he hinted, grinning. 

 

“So you can repeat what you just did? Without my help this time?” Legolas asked, hair falling from behind his ear as a gust of wind blew between them.

 

Aragorn leaned even closer as he pushed it back behind his ear. Legolas shivered. “With absolute certainty.”

 

He stepped away from the man. “Then do so.”

 

And he did, raising his bow as he had before, tilted at a slight angle as he drew back and lodged a second arrow in the target, right next to where the first had been. 

 

“Not bad,” the elf admitted, looking on at the target. “I would have thought that you would have missed again.”

 

“But that would only reflect poorly on you, wouldn’t it?” Aragorn retorted. He set the bow dwn on the ground again. Legolas followed the movement closely.

 

“Sam and Frodo agreed to prepare supper for us all, as a homecoming welcome for you,” he said. “I think they may even have that lembas bread you enjoy so.”

 

He hadn’t voiced the question, but Legolas knew what he was asking, and to him, the answer would always be yes.

 

“Dressed like that?” he pointed out, teasing just for the sake of it. “It is almost as if you want Faramir to have a heart attack.”

 

Aragorn looked down at the tunic, it was a plainer one, although it was covered in dirt from his time with the horses. “Fine, then we will go change.”

 

“We?” The elf echoed. 

 

He smirked. “You are not as presentable as you think you are,  _ mellon nin _ .” And with that, he picked up a wad of mud from the ground and threw it at the elf. The mud spalttered all over the silver tunic, and he could feel it bleeding through the thin material and onto his skin as well.

 

“Aragorn!” It did not take him long to reach down and scoop up another handful and throw it back, his impeccable aim nailing the man in the face. 

 

Aragorn wiped the mud off his face, and then wiped his hands on Legolas’ hair. Legolas retorted by tackling him, sending both of them flying into the mud.

 

“Legolas!” He was laughing still, even as he flipped them over, tossing Legolas into the mud.

 

He didn’t know how long they spend there, just messing around in the mud, but it was dark before either one of them stopped.

 

Legolas was the first to notice, his eyes drifting to the sky right before he was knocked over by a mud-covered Aragorn.

 

“Aragorn. . . When did you say supper was to be?” His friend followed his gaze to the sky where the moon shone brightly upon them.

 

He cursed. “We should have been back an hour ago.” Legolas pushed him off gently.

 

“Did you bring Brego?”

 

“Aye, but—”

 

“We’ll both fit, if we hurry we may be able to make it in time,” Legolas hastened to get up, following Aragorn to the chestnut mare.

 

He pulled himself onto it, and leaned forward as the former Dúnedain ranger sat behind him, his arms resting loosely around the elf’s waist. “We may not have time to change,” he muttered and Legolas laughed.

 

“I had thought that was a given at this point,” he called back as he urged the horse into a gallop. Aragorn’s arms tightened instinctively.

 

Aragorn leaned closer, his voice in the elf’s ear. “What will they say, when they see the Prince of Mirkwood, covered in mud?”

 

Legolas leaned against his chest. “The same they will say when they see the King of Men covered in the same mud.”

 

Aragorn laughed, holding Legolas closer and leaning against him, the mud from his own tunic rubbing against the elf’s, as Brego carried them back to their friends once more.


End file.
